


The Fight Inside

by ellyiggy



Category: APH - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 14th Century, Angst, Brothers, Gen, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Quotations, Sad, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4698041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellyiggy/pseuds/ellyiggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of Bannockburn, 1314</p><p>"England, Scotland is getting quite vexing for the safety of our land. You surely are conscious of the importance of holding Stirling Castle, since it commands the route north into the Scottish Highlands."<br/>I have been urgently summoned before my King, Edward II of England.<br/>"Of course, Your Majesty."<br/>“You know your duties and responsibilities, hence: I vow to thee, my country, the service of my love."<br/>Scotland, brother, we're from different worlds with one shared memory that carelessly deletes and draws the same history. Behind a shadow of smiles and cautious gestures, our days are passed struggling, and even if I can no longer stand the pain, it hurts me to dedicate to you my resentment. All we needed was time but now time will destroy us. Experience doesn't change anything because what brings us closer in time, are now the damages and not the years anymore. No matter how we try, it's too much history. Too many bad notes playing in our symphony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fight Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody! This is my first fanfiction and it's about one of my major OTP's: ScotEng. ^.^
> 
> I sincerely hope you'll like it!
> 
>  **!READ ME!**  
>  This is a rather peculiar and unusual fanfiction because all the characters' thoughts and the dialogues between Scotland and England are short parts taken from various songs by different artists.  
> Therefore, the whole fanfic, except the linking sentences, the historical facts and other characters' words, is a composition of pieces from different songs.  
> On the other hand, I wanted it to be as historically accurate as possible, as a matter of fact, the places, the facts, the characters and their words are rather trustworthy.  
> It took me a lot of months to choose each sentence from all those songs!  
> The quotes are taken from songs by several artists, among which:  
> Vic Mignogna, Red, Taylor Swift, One Republic, Nine Lashes, Tiziano Ferro, Fall Out Boy, The Afters, Breaking Benjamin, The Skillet, The Three Days Grace, Nickelback, The Evanescence, Bring me the Horizon, Imagine Dragons, Thirty Seconds to Mars, Mumford and Sons, Sleeping at Last, The Rasmus, Hozier,...
> 
> I am really curious to know what your favourite lines are!  
> Comment, please! ;)

_****_

_**The Fight Inside**_

  
_

Where once was light, now darkness falls.

_  
_

Where once was love, love is no more...

_

"England, you surely are conscious of the importance of holding Stirling Castle, since it commands the route north into the Scottish Highlands.”  
I have been urgently summoned before my King, Edward II of England.  
“Of course, Your Majesty.”  
“As expected from you. It seems it has recently been besieged by Robert the Bruce's brother, Edward Bruce. The keeper of the castle, Philip Mowbray, has promised Bruce that unless the castle is relieved by us in a short time, it will be returned to the Scots.”  
“I understand. May I ask what I am supposed to do, considering the circumstances?”  
“We cannot permit to lose such a salient location, besides the Scots challenged us,” asserts he.  
“You know your duties and responsibilities, hence: I vow to thee, my country, the service of my love; I require you to go and fight against the army of Bruce. You know, your brother Scotland is getting quite vexing for the safety of our land.”  
Fighting. Again. Although I altogether disagree and I wish I could refuse, I can't. I can't either forbear or gainsay the person I am talking to, I cannot debase the liaison between a country and the respective King because I know the kind of love he is mentioning.  
The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test, that lays upon the altar, the dearest and the best; the love that never falters, the love that pays the price, the love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice.  
“I ensure that I shall do my utmost in order to remove everything that encumbers on the land of your Majesty,” I acquiesce as I bow to the King.  
I turn to leave the room, looking at the long-haired man sitting on the throne, he stares back proudly and I quit the room.  
Edward II's appearance is similar to his father's great stature and drooping eyelid, yet he lacks the drive and ambition of his forebear. His main interest is in entertainment, though he also takes pleasure in athletics and mechanical crafts. Edward I, on the other hand, was an ideal king, though not loved by his subjects, he was feared and respected. He satisfied all the expectations of kingship in his role.  
These Wars with Scotland began years ago and, under the command of Edward I, I was successful, having won victories like the one at Dunbar. The removal of John Balliol from the throne of Scotland also contributed.  
Scotland...my brother...we are constantly endeavoring to prevail over the other, and having another fight won't appease our enmity. It will just engender many other wars and deaths of citizens.  
We just tear down the walls and the home that our jealousy built. Why is it always the smallest things that tear us down?  
You and I walk a fragile line, I know I can't take one more step towards you, because all that's waiting is regret. We're from different worlds with one shared memory that carelessly deletes and draws the same history. Haunted by the past, a nightmare that seemed so unreal. I wish that I could go back time and spare the pain that we both feel. And now we've changed, things will never be the same...  
We were foolish then, but our trials served to make us strong. When did it all turn into lies?  
If heaven's grief brings hell's rain, then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday.  
Wishing I could go back, when everything was easier and meaningful to me. Holding back the life that I've denied for so long like it were the answer. Can I find my way to you?  
We built a tall tower towards the sun, took some words, built a wall and called it love.  
And somewhere in all the talking, the meaning faded out, brick by brick we started crumbling...will I find you when it falls? All we needed was time but now time will destroy us. Experience doesn't change anything because what brings us closer in time, are now the damages and not the years anymore. No matter how we try, it's too much history. Too many bad notes playing in our symphony.  
But could you tell me how this will end?  
Conscience is a faint, unpleasant sound; there's a lie for every truth...when you were mine, was I for you? Damn it, I hope you didn't fake it...  
Every word’s a trap to your lies, you’re my impostor and I’m a shadow lost deep inside. There's no use to try and suppress because it's always there, reminding the one wound that never forgets, open and undying, always alive, always inside.  
Behind a shadow of smiles and cautious gestures, our days are passed struggling, and even if I can no longer stand the pain, it hurts me to dedicate to you my resentment.  
If we only could get over all the wasted pride, just face the truth and give up the conflict; if I only could find the strength to kill the memories...these empty pages never turn.  
I can't remember how you lost me.  
Or how I lost you.

The king has complete confidence in victory over Scotland, however, it is my firm belief that this won't develop as easily as he foresees. There won't be a winner between us since it's going to be a never-ending war which will rust and pursue for so long that both our countries will be shattered.  
I don't wanna fight a war that no one's gonna win...we must be the change we wish to see because it no longer matters who was right or wrong...  
On 17th June, 1314, our army begins its advance into Scotland, accompanied by flocks of sheep and cattle to provide rations, and carts carrying the baggage of the soldiers and the fodder required for the horses. Edward II has ordered to march to Edinburgh and take the old Roman road to Stirling, and on Sunday 23rd June we started our final march up to the Bannockburn.  
And indeed that's where I finally see you, Scotland, wearing your saffron-colored tunic, beside Robert the Bruce. I feel it descending now: the place that I run or what I run from, the boundary begins to fade and suddenly I perceive your gaze focused upon me.  
What if I let you win? What if I want to try? What if you take a chance?  
Beneath the stains of time the feelings vanish, you are someone else, I am still right here. I should have seen those signs all around me, but I was comfortable inside these wounds, go ahead and take another piece of me. So we're bound to linger on, then love until we bleed...  
Robert the Bruce assembled his army of Scottish foot soldiers into four Schiltrons commanded by himself, James Douglas, Thomas Randolph Earl of Moray, and his brother Edward the Bruce.  
On the other hand, king Edward II formed the English army in ten divisions, each led by a noble or a knight.  
I venture to say that Bruce's method doesn't lack wit: it is to form with each schiltron a bristling mass of spears, which he doesn't expect our soldiers to be able to penetrate. Furthermore, on the ground there are hidden pits along the bank of the Bannockburn, I suppose the Scots did that to dissolve any mounted charge against them.  
De Mowbray, the Governor of Stirling Castle, approaches Edward II and I hear them converse: it seems that the man is trying to persuade the king to give up the battle because of his grave reservations as to the outcome. However, to the King and the knights it's evident that our army will tear apart the Scots, as a matter of fact, they will withdraw, even just in view of the huge disparity in numbers of the armies.  
Why must we fall apart to understand how to fly?  
It is at this point that Sir de Bohun gallops ahead and pounces on the Scots King to challenge him to duel. Too rush and brazen. The contrast in their equipment is stark; notwithstanding, the sinewy Scotsman evades de Bohun’s lance and instead, strikes him a deadly blow with his ax. De Bohun falls dead.  
I can feel you smirking in triumph, Scotland. Are you pleased, brother?  
I can't undo the things that led us to this, but I know there's something more to us than our mistakes; so is it you or is it me? I know I'm so blind when we don't agree.  
It only hurts me to be near you. I'm not ready to let go because then I'd never know what I could be missing. I will run and hide till memories fade away...  
Edward II hasn't been painstaking enough in establishing the army: the cavalry is too heavy and there aren't enough archers. A truculent melee ensues. Without archers we are bound, the cavalry is unable to get through the dense thicket of Scotland' spear men.  
Scotland has won the first day. The king is enraged, he abhors the idea of losing, he keeps on yelling and stimulating the soldiers, the nobles and knights are incredulous, and all I can see is your red hair, your sneer and your feral look as you stab my own people to death, watching their blood emerge through their clothes. These tears I cry are falling rain for all the lies you told me, the hurt the blame. 

Scotland's POV

Hope fades into the world of night through shadows falling out of time and memory. I won the first day and I will win the entire war, brother. You and your weak and pathetic army are withdrawing. Have you still confidence in victory over me? Along the way to the encampment, I fasten my gaze on the English corpses. Can you see now how your so-called “power” counts for absolutely nothing?  
The thinning line between you and my sanity is quickly fading. It takes just a breeze to cause a storm, takes just a breath to cause a scream, it takes me to cause a tragedy.  
With the end of the day, Robert de Bruce gathers his commanders together to discuss about the future conduct of the battle and exhorts me to join the discussion. He takes a breath and declares calmly: “I propose a strategic withdrawal from the field, we'll leave the English, for sooner or later, they will have a lack of supplies and will be forced to retreat to England.”  
I can't help laughing uproariously. He jests, surely? “Permit me, Sir, it's preposterous that we abandon the battlefield after having won so glaringly today. The English would consider us cowards and would deride the whole country.” I won't give you this satisfaction, England.  
“Trying to avoid a fight does not make you a coward, Scotland. We should not risk further,” says he. Soon afterwards a Scottish knight, Sir Alexander Seton, arrives from the English camp, having probably decided to resume his fealty to the Scottish King, since he has defected him by fighting in the service of Edward II. Sir Seton pays his respects to Bruce and communicates: “Sir, if you wish to take all of Scotland, now is the time. Edward’s army is grievously discouraged. Besides, in fear that you might mount a night attack, they encamped in the Carse of Balquhidderock. You may beat them on the morrow with little loss and great glory.” These words seem to encourage Bruce' spirit, as he firmly asserts to risk all in the morning and face Edward II in open battle. It's not over yet, England.  
Darkness falls. Here comes the rain to wash away the past and the names. Here comes the rain to end it all. You probably wish we could go back and be what we were once: brothers. Sadly you are so mistaken, there's just too much that time cannot erase. This will be all over soon, pour salt into the open wound.  
So sacrifice yourself, and let me have what's left, I'll take you with a grain, step into the changes and throw away the empty heart because right now, I see it in a different way. Did you even care, in any case? You stand, I fall...  
You're not as special as you maybe think that you are.  
The sun is rising on the horizon and the army prepares for another fight. Robert de Bruce is setting his shield, showing a red lion rampant, with blue tongue and claws, within a red double border on a yellow background. Then he rallies his men and proclaims his battle cry: “Now’s the day, and now’s the hour; see the front o’ battle lour; see approach proud Edward’s power.  
Let him turn and flee! Tyrants fall in every foe!”The call is followed by a loud amount of shouts and roars.  
I see you and your English army crossing the Bannock burn and forming up along the edge of the Carse of Balquiderock, ready to obstruct me. Awful choice, it is not a good position...for you.  
I see nothing in your eyes, and the more I see the less I like.  
I watch you like I'm gonna tear you limb from limb.  
Will hunger ever stop? Can we simply starve this sin?  
See, I've come to burn your kingdom down. I've come to smoke you out.  
There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin. 

England's POV

I'm waking up to ash and dust, I raise my flags, don my clothes, we'll paint it red to fit right in.  
As my army prepares for the collision, I hear yelling and shouting in exhortation.  
I’m frightened by what I see, but somehow I know that there’s much more to come. Immobilized by my fear and soon to be blinded by tears. It will all be over, and here we are, we're stuck inside this salted earth together. I feel like I'm lost among aims each time bigger. Is it worth all that I've gained? We both know how this will end, but I'd do it again.  
The king's voice diverts me from my thoughts, "Yon folk are kneeling to ask mercy." An Abbot is leading the mass and is blessing all the Scots as they kneel in prayer. On hearing this, Sir de Umfraville, a Balliol supporter fighting for Edward, replies: "They ask for mercy, but not from you. They ask God for mercy for their sins.”  
Despite my astonishment, the enemy forces begin to advance: are your foot soldiers advancing against my mounted knights..?  
Edward shares my daze as well, since he asks de Umfraville: “Alas, will these Scotsmen fight?”  
“These men will gain all or die in the trying, Your Majesty.”  
“So be it,” says he, signaling for the trumpets to sound the charge.  
I’m numb to you, numb and deaf and blind, I reach but I feel only air. Not you, not love, just nothing. How could you? How could you hate me? When all I ever wanted to be was you. How could you love me? When all you ever gave me were open wounds.  
The fight begins. The Scots spear men press viciously forward, and I glimpse you, farther, standing alongside Bruce.  
This house of cards just hit the floor.  
Trembling, crawling across my skin, I feel your cold dead eyes stealing the life of mine. You look in my eyes, I'm stripped of my pride, and my soul surrenders, and you bring my heart to its knees. Who is the betrayer? Who’s the killer in the crowd, the one who creeps and doesn't make a sound? Let's get the story straight, you were a poison flooded through my veins, you left me broken.  
And now you've pushed me to the edge, this is the rage in every tear I've cried. One sweet day you're going to drown in my lost pain. The quiet silence defines our misery, the riot inside keeps trying to visit me. There is a fire inside this heart and a riot about to explode into flames. Crash crash, burn! Let it all burn!  
The cry went up, “On them. On them. They fail. They fail.”  
You get closer and closer to me, my heart beats violently and the fearful sound of a too-well-known voice reaches my ear: “You had to have it all, well have you had enough? You greedy little bastard, you'll get what you deserve.” Shoulder to shoulder, now brother, we carry no arms.  
“Do you really want me? Do you really want me, dead or alive, to torture for my sins?” I hiss at you. Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed.  
“You have to forget, England. The world we knew won’t come back, the time we’ve lost can’t be recovered, the life we had won’t be ours again...I...”  
“You can't take back the words you never said, Scotland.” When I find my voice, the anger flares up inside me and it makes my words come out sharper than I meant them to.  
Our time is running out. I won't let you smother it, you can't stop it screaming out.  
The Scots keep on forcing against the increasingly exhausted English army, surrounding it.  
Your eyes ignite as you see the development of the battle, “I'm going to reclaim what belongs to me: my independence.”  
“This is just the lie living for you, so you can hide. How can you say that your truth is better than ours?” You are still the silence in between what I thought and what I said.  
Suddenly, something rushes at me and in an instant a violent blow hits me in the chest. I fall to the ground while you sneer at me. “Without me, you are...” You take a lurching step forward with each word. _“Nothing.”_  
You taught me to look at you and fed me your sweet lies. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. You climb on top of me, straddling me, then you grab my wrists roughly, pinning me down. You stop for awhile to face me; a hand leaves the grip on my wrist just to be placed on my neck, in order to choke me. You pierce my lungs, my limbs go numb as my colors fade out.  
The English cavalry is hemmed in making it difficult for them to maneuver.  
Your touch used to give me life, but you rip it from my hands and you swear it's all gone, you rip out all we had just to say that you've won...  
Well, now you've won.  
The bitter in you and the quitter in me is bigger than the both of us...If only I had an enemy bigger than my apathy I could have won, and I might have shown you that it's not too late, it's never too late. Can we ever start again?  
We could have had it all, but now when all is done there is nothing to say, you have gone and so effortlessly you have won. You can go ahead tell them all I know now: tell them I was happy and my heart is broken, all my scars are open. Tell what I hoped would be impossible.  
My people are gradually pushed back and ground down by the Scots' schiltrons. They attempt to use the fire with the longbowmen; nevertheless they are ordered to cease fire as they are causing casualties among their own, as well. Even the enemy makes use of flames, and the world becomes illuminated. At first, the smoke is all that fills my view, but then I admire it smoldering, the fire flickers, burns up, screams.  
You're still pressing eagerly on my throat, covering my eyes with locks of your red hair.  
Trying hard to speak and fighting with my weak hand, driven to distraction. I'm diving off the deep end, I wanna love you but I don't know if I can.  
I feel you loosen the grip and disbelief spreads across your face. I turn to find out the reason behind your behavior: the Earl of Pembroke is seizing King Edward’s bridle and is leading him away from the battle field, to safety, accompanied by Sir Giles d'Argentan.  
The battle is lost.  
Your snide laugh reverberates in the air as you bend over me whispering painful words:  
“Don't put your life in someone's hands, they're bound to steal it away. Don't hide your mistakes cause they'll find you, burn you...” Your hand strokes my cheek while your fingers brush against my lips.  
“To you I'm all I've left undone,” I retort. You patiently wait for my next mistake, I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife. Offer me my deathless death.  
Without a head, the remaining of the army runs amok; panic spreads and defeat turns into a tragedy. However, once the King is safe, d'Argentan, unwilling to flee, returns to the battle, only to be killed by the Scottish spears.  
Robert De Bruce approaches us, “We have won, Scotland. For as longs as one hundred of us shall remain alive we shall never in any wise consent to submit to the rule of the English, for it is not for glory that we fight...but for freedom alone,” asserts he elated. “The fight is over, we can go.”  
You look into my green eyes with nothing but scorn, before getting away from me,  
“Aye, there's nothing left here to burn.”  
I would have never thought the pain could grow. Even though I don't have your weight lying on my body anymore, I lie here. No matter how many breaths that I take, I still can't breathe.  
There's a silent storm inside me, all the pain... I want it to end, but I want it again...  
And it finds me, _the fight inside_ is coursing through my veins.  
And it's raging. _The fight inside_ is breaking me again.

 

END


End file.
